


The Baron's Strange Wife

by PawPunk



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: (read it! is good!), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Classism, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Nobility, Prompt: Fuck Religious Authorities, Sexism, Superpowers, cleo is a bamf, joe is sweet but not tactful, specifically staver and vassilissa, written for the banned together bingo event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PawPunk/pseuds/PawPunk
Summary: Joe gets himself into trouble with the Bishop. Luckily, Cleo is ready to rescue him.Based on the fairytale Staver and Vassilissa, which you should definitely read because it slaps. It also accounts for some of the superhuman things Cleo does in this fic.Written for the Banned Together Bingo event. Prompt: Fuck Religious Authorities
Relationships: joehills/ zombiecleo, zombiecleo/ joehills
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	The Baron's Strange Wife

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: a character displayed as a villain is repeatedly sexist and classist. Also, references to war and homelessness

The Kingdom of Sylevnor might as well have been called the Priestdom of Sylvenor. Sure, the king and his nobles technically ruled the land, but the church created most of the laws and demanded heavy tithes from the rules, forcing them to raise taxes and keep the people dependent on the church’s “charity”. No one dared speak against the system for fear of being branded a heretic- well, almost no one.

“Well, it’s a beautiful plan and all,” said Joe Hills. He had been appointed the Baron of a small province, near Sylvenor’s border with the tribes of undead to the East, and had been worrying the church with his liberal tendencies. “But we already have a church around here,” he continued, “and I don’t see why my citizens should pay for a new one. Especially such a fancy church- we’re simple folk around here, and I’m sure the people would rather have a little more money in their pockets than an opulent place of worship.”

“Pardon?” the Bishop spluttered. He’d never heard anyone refuse the whims of the church so obviously before.

Joe did not pick up on his horror. “Well, don’t get me wrong, beautiful architecture is important,” he said, “But my Provence is quite frankly poor. My wife and I have almost exhausted our coffers trying to keep folks from resorting to crime. The last thing they need is higher taxes. You know, now would be a good time for you to give a little help to us, not the other way around.” The hound sitting at his side growled, and Joe calmed it with a scratch behind the ears.

The Bishop sputtered. “Well, you must understand how important religion is to the dregs of society. The poor are special that way, they can find joy in non-material treasures. Not like us rich folk.”

Joe stood up. “No, I think you must understand! Nobody needs gold and jewels to be happy!” he snapped. “I could be out on the streets, but as long as I had my lovely wife with me I would be the happiest man alive! But the people of my Provence need food and shelter as surely as we do, and in my humble opinion they deserve it a lot more than you deserve their money. So leave, we don’t need your new church!”

“Your lordship, please keep your voice down!” the Bishop shouted. Joe’s dog snarled, and he grabbed it by the collar before it could lunge at the Bishop.

“I’m sorry, he used to live on the streets, he’s afraid of people yelling-” Joe sputtered. The Bishop huffed, picking up his papers.

“We’ll see if you have the same opinion when we meet again,” he said calmly, shuffling out the door. The guards that had been sent to escort him bowed. “I’d like you to arrest the Baron for threatening a religious figure.” They nodded, too scared to deny his request, and spread out to block the entrances to the small church.

* * *

When Joe’s dog returned home without Joe himself, Cleo knew something was wrong. For one thing, Joe would never leave a dog out of his sight- he loved them too much. More importantly, though, she knew he was just talking with a religious authority, and Joe tended not to watch his mouth around people he didn’t like. Sighing, Cleo climbed down the stairs to the armory and brushed the dust off her old raiding armor. She braided her long, red hair and hid it under the helmet. She was a little out of practice, but hopefully, the armor and her old battle-ax would do most of the talking.

Cleo silently saddled her horse and rode down to the jailhouse. As expected, that stubborn Bishop was outside, conversing with his guards and the local clergy.

“Sirs,” Cleo said. Her voice echoed around in her helmet, making it sound much deeper than it was. “Would you happen to know where the Baron is?”

“Who are you? Why do you need to know?” the Bishop said nervously.

“I am a representative from the undead lands,” Cleo said. It wasn’t technically false. “I was sent to speak to the Baron and renew our peace treaty, but seeing as he was not at home I came to find him. I’d hate to have to wage war on the kingdom again.”

“Well- um,” the Bishop said. 

“Your Excellency, you’re being lied to,” a nun said suddenly. “That’s not a raider, that’s the Baroness. She hasn’t been back to the undead lands in years, much less fought.”

The Bishop laughed. “A woman couldn’t wear that armor, she wouldn’t know how to walk in it!” Cleo sneered under her helmet.

“But your excellency-“ the nun protested.

“If the zombie really is a woman, let her try one of my guards on for size,” the Bishop said breezily. “If he can defeat them, we’ll know he’s a man.” He gestured towards a guard, and the man strode forward confidently. Cleo waited until he drew his sword, for honor, and then picked him up and tossed him easily over her shoulder. The guard thudded to the ground, hopefully not too badly injured, but Cleo had made her point.

“See?” said the Bishop. “No woman could be that strong.”

The nun huffed. “Your excellency, I’ve seen the Baroness. She can lift her husband with one arm. This doesn’t prove it isn’t her!”

“Well, she may be strong, but if she’s really a woman she wouldn’t have any kind of training,” the Bishop said. “Let’s see the zombie fire an arrow. If he can do that, we’ll know he’s a man.”

The Bishop led Cleo around the back of the prison, to a small park with an oak tree in the middle. A guard handed Cleo his bow, and she fired a shot at the tree.

The arrow didn’t lodge in the tree. “You see?” the nun said desperately, even though Cleo’s demonstration didn’t prove anything. “She didn’t hit it!”

“No,” said a guard in amazement. He walked past the oak tree, which now had a small hole in it. He paced to the wall behind it, and pointed out the arrow, lodged deep in the solid stone.

“Now will you let me see my h- the Baron?” Cleo grumbled.

The nun’s eye twitched. “Your excellency, do you hear that? She almost said ‘my husband!’ I swear, that’s the Baroness!”

The Baron scoffed. “We’ve already shown he’s a competent warrior, but very well. Let him play chess with me. If he wins, we’ll know he’s a man.”

“Why not make her take off her helmet,” suggested the nun, but the Bishop did not listen to women. She sighed in frustration.

A guard fetched his chessboard, and Cleo sat down with the Bishop to play. Cleo often beat the cleverest people she knew in chess, but the Bishop was not clever. She won three games in a row without any effort.

“Now do you believe I’m the messenger from the undead hordes?” Cleo sighed. “My time is very valuable, and I don’t like to waste it playing stupid games with stupid people.”

“Yes, my apologies,” the Bishop spat. “How can I help you?”

“Just tell me where the Baron is, and I can commence negotiations.”

“Ah, but you see…” the Bishop said. “He ordered his dog to attack me, and we were forced to apprehend him. After all, I am a man of G-d, and not even the nobility are above the Lord.”

“Very well,” Cleo said lightly. She took a moment to compose herself, not knowing whether she was angry or proud of Joe to have threatened the Bishop. “Then I shall go back to my camp and tell the warlords to attack.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” the Bishop shouted. “You don’t have to attack! Please, let’s work out another peace treaty!”

“With the man who arrested our human ambassador?” Cleo laughed. “Not likely. How’s this for a peace treaty- release the Baron and never return to these lands, and the hordes will consider not razing this kingdom to the ground, beginning with you.”

The Bishop swallowed. “Yes, of course,” he squeaked. The uninjured guards had already retreated to let Joe out of his cell. Cleo harried the Bishop towards his disgustingly extravagant carriage and watched him flee.

“Cleo! Darling!” Joe said as he walked out. Cleo removed her helmet to kiss him before lifting him up onto the horse. She climbed on in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around her armored waist.

“Don’t worry about the Bishop,” she said. “I scared him off for good.”

“Should I be worried for him instead?” Joe joked.

“No, I left him physically unscathed,” Cleo reassured him. “We will want to give that guard I wrestled some compensation, though.”

As they rode off into the sunset, the nun sighed. “I told him so.”


End file.
